cinnabun-jacob

[cinnabun-jacob]

Son of a Salvatore and a Heretic

[cinnabun-jacob]

( @darkskiesrpgstarters - Indoor Sports Complex Refugees )

Jacob appeared inside the sports complex in a whirl of displaced air, water streaming off him in rivulets. The sudden teleportation left him breathless, his heart hammering as he fought to steady himself. Rain pounded the roof overhead, and the wind shrieked against the rattling metal doors, as if something massive lurked outside, desperate to break in.

He shoved a dripping lock of red hair out of his eyes, adjusting the EMT bag on his shoulder. Fluorescent lights flickered feebly, casting the gym in a grainy, stuttering glow. People crowded the bleachers—some soaked to the bone, others shivering in fear or cold. The storm was all wrong, its intensity too fierce for any normal weather pattern.

Jacob tried to stifle the lingering rush of his hasty spell. His instincts as an EMT screamed for him to help, but exhaustion tugged at him after working to rescue those stranded outside. Even with vampiric power coursing through his veins—and a witch’s magic at his fingertips—there were limits. He did what he could before the situation became too dangerous for even him. Despite being skilled in transportation magic, he'd barely managed to focus on the blood ties that led him here, where family or kin likely found shelter.

“Anyone injured?” he called, his Southern London accent slicing through the anxious murmurs.

A man near the doors lifted a trembling hand. Blood darkened his sleeve, dripping steadily. “Got slammed into a car before I got inside,” he said through clenched teeth. “Hurts like hell.”

Jacob was already at his side, kneeling in a shallow puddle as he rummaged for gauze. The copper tang of blood hit him like a wave. His breath caught, and he fought to keep his fangs from springing forth, the familiar hunger snapping at his control. He blinked hard, swallowing a low growl as he pressed gauze to the wound with careful hands. Faster than any human medic would dare, but subdued enough not to draw suspicion, he worked to clean and wrap the cut.

The man stared at his bandaged arm. “Bloody hell,” It was Jacob who spoke, still fighting back the urge to make a meal of the man now that his blood was on his hands.

Jacob offered a taut smile. “Lucky. Could’ve been worse,” he managed, forcing casualness into his tone.

A thunderclap rocked the building, cutting off the overhead lights for a split second. Jacob seized that tiny sliver of darkness and darted back, letting his vampiric reflexes carry him clear of the blood’s temptation. He stopped suddenly, chest colliding with someone’s back. Shock jolted through him as he realized he wasn’t alone in the shadows.

[cinnabun-jacob]

Jacob's senses were on overdrive as he moved through the chaos. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in every sudden movement, every flash of teeth or claws as the spell-induced nightmare unfolded. Most of these people had no idea what they were doing—innocent partygoers transformed into monsters by some sick twist of magic. His Captain America costume was certainly not providing any superhuman strength, but Jacob didn’t need it. He had his own.

The air was thick with panic, fear mingling with the sharp scent of sweat. Jacob spotted Arynn, the young man flinging a goblin across the room. Jacob raised an eyebrow in mild admiration before he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He had a werewolf or rather, someone cursed to be a werewolf in his grip, the creature snarling and struggling. This wasn't any real werewolf, but one of those seen only in Hollywood movies and far more dangerous by his reckoning. He attempted to siphon the magic that was animating the costume but instead found himself pulling pure the same kind of magic he got when siphoning a werewolf, not what he'd intended.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his accent slipping out as the extra power surged into his veins. His muscles tensed, strength amplified, and with a burst of energy, Jacob slammed the werewolf’s head against a nearby pillar. The creature crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Jacob took a deep breath, his gaze falling on Arynn as the scratch makers from the creature's claws on his cheek began to quickly close.

“Oi, nice toss with the goblin,” Jacob said, his voice touched with a hint of humor despite the chaos. “You got a plan, mate, or are we just winging it?” His eyes flicked around, searching for the next threat. “Name’s Jacob, by the way. Might be better if we stick together, safety in numbers?” Leaning down he placed a hand on an injured unconscious partygoer before quickly muttering a chant as the cut on their arm closed just as rapidly as those on his own face did.

"Motus!" Arynn's hand snapped outwards; sending the body of someone that had come dressed as a goblin-like creature soaring through the air when it had decided to lunge at him from the banisters of the nearby stairwell. The young witch winced as the creature toppled into one of the carnival stalls with a splintering of wood and flutter of fabrics. "Sorry!" He called out and quickly moved to another room.

The magic in the air was basically tangible and Arynn could only assume it was from the sheer scale of the spell that had been employed. He'd watched it unfold - people talking casually to one another and suddenly going wild in whatever visage they'd donned that evening. The ordeal had made Arynn quick to curse his theatrics earlier in the day as he felt the strain on his magic and stamina starting to weigh in now that he actually needed his magic.

"Aliyah? Abigail?" He called for his sisters. "Jen? Mo--Bonnie?!" He called for his ex and his mother - but in the panicked crowd he couldn't make any of them out.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

[cinnabun-jacob]

Jacob blinked, slightly caught off guard by the directness of the question and the unexpected curiosity in her tone. The woman stood there with a curious look, her head tilted in an almost endearing way. He offered a smile, working to hide his surprise.

"Uh, the American one," he said, his voice a blend of amusement and warmth. "Captain America, actually." He broadened his smile a bit. "A friend calls me that a lot so I figured I'd go dressed as the comic book character this year."

He took in her inquisitive expression, noting how her gaze flickered between the costume and his face, wondering if she was trying to connect him to someone or just puzzled by his choice. Jacob couldn't help but feel a sense of ease; maybe it was her candid approach or the simplicity of her curiosity, something refreshingly human in this surreal setting, like a reminder of the normalcy he often longed for amidst all the supernatural chaos.

Falin noticed the stranger wearing the colors of the....american....or maybe puerto rico-the fae saw the flags in her workplace but she didn't want to look too odd asking about the display. So maybe Falin was focused less on the person and more on the costume. She noticed the individual looked quite young- but then again looks in this town are incredibly deceiving to say the least.

Falin sighed and decided to take a chance though. If not for the mere fact this was going to bother her for the remainder of the next. There was a friendly head tilt. "Forgive me for asking but are you wearing the American flag or the Puerto Rican one?"

[cinnabun-jacob]

The vibrant red, white, and blue of his Captain America costume makes Jacob stand out amidst the extravagance of the Mikaelson Halloween Ball. He had chosen this costume for its symbolism—an emblem of hope and resilience—which felt fitting for a night meant to celebrate unity against adversity. The sprawling Mikaelson compound was decked out in autumnal grandeur. He had only been here to visit his cousin Marshall but never paid much attention to the place itself. Laughter and music wove through the crowd, mixing with the sound of clicking heels and rustling costumes. Occasionally, the excitement would lead to someone's heart beating a little too loudly for Jacob's liking, causing the ripper side of himself to stir, though he fought to keep it under control. This caused him to weave around the crowd and switch spots every now and again.

Jacob moved through the crowd, half-expecting to spot familiar faces—maybe his father, Stefan, or even his mother, Valerie—his heart thrumming with the hope that maybe, just maybe, his family would be here. Would they recognize him? Did they know who he was in this time? He tried not to dwell on the uncertainty.

@darkskiesrpgstarters

[cinnabun-jacob]

Open Starter - @darkskiesrpgstarters

Jacob knelt in the dim alleyway, his EMT jacket rustling slightly in the cool breeze. In front of him were three vampires, their faces twisted in pain from recent werewolf bites. He could sense the venom coursing beneath their skin, throbbing like a toxic pulse. Taking a deep breath, Jacob pressed his hands against one of the vampire's shoulders, siphoning the magic to neutralize the venom. The venom's energy flowed like fire through his glowing red hand, surging into his body and filling him with power. Carefully, he siphoned the bites, watching as the gruesome wounds began to heal and the vampires' pained expressions softened. When he finished, he handed each vampire a blood bag, his voice calm and steady.

"Drink. I can heal you from the bite, but you'll still feel weak from both the venom and the siphoning."

[cinnabun-jacob]

"Damn," Jacob muttered under his breath, seeing Maveric, his cousin, hunched over, clutching his side, bleeding profusely. He waved his hand instinctively, causing the gun to lock up, rendering it unable to fire. The veins around Jacob's eyes began to ripple visibly, and the whites turned red for a few seconds. His job as an EMT had gotten Jacob accustomed to blood—enough, at least, that he wouldn't lose control over a nosebleed. However, this was a lot of blood, and the coppery scent filled his nostrils like the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the noses of children.

"That's... a lot..." he couldn't finish his sentence as he slowly suppressed his vampire urges while still struggling with them, his voice low as his eyes locked with Maveric's. He took a careful step forward, channeling every ounce of calm he could muster. "I'd have thought a doc would know humans and bullets don't mix." His voice softened, the edge easing slightly. "I'm going to try and heal you." His vampire blood would normally suffice, but there was too much blood for Jacob to think rationally about it now.

Open Starter - @darkskiesrpgstarters

"Fuck," Maveric groaned, digits pressing against the bullet wound in his abdomen. The pain seared, radiating through his frame has leant forward over the now dead triad agents body. "Prick. What happened to need them fucking alive, huh? Some fucking agents you dipshits have." His gaze snaps to the approaching figure, dark irises glaring daggers as teeth grit tightly together through the pain and a single hand moves quickly to grab his gun, pointing it at the other. "One wrong move and I swear to God I will put a bullet in your head," he threatens. He had to get back to Rebekah, to his kids. This was not how a Salvatore went down.

[cinnabun-jacob]

Jacob stumbled back, the sudden impact catching him off guard. His eyes widened, taking in the scene. The man had come out of nowhere, and Jacob quickly raised his hands, signaling no harm. "Whoa, no worries," he reassured, a slight laugh escaping. "You alright? Looks like you’ve got your hands full there." His gaze shifted down to the crumpled poster, curiosity piqued. "Missing cat, huh? Want a hand with the last one? I’ve got time."

.༄˖˙ ― dakota kerr saltzman / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters

after spending all afternoon putting up posters for a missing cat, dakota had just one left to put somewhere. the dryad looked around, scoping the area for a good spot. he almost moved on to a new location but as soon as he moved to head in the direction of the next bus stop, he ran fully right into someone. "ohhh shit, im sorry!"

[cinnabun-jacob]

Jacob leaned back, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Osman fume over his coffee. “Maybe it’s fate trying to tell you something,” he teased. “Like, I don’t know, try something new?” He paused, his grin widening. “Or maybe it’s just karma. I recall hearing the barista mention you called them 'caffeine illiterate' last time?” He shrugged, taking a sip of his own perfectly made drink. “Sometimes you gotta go with the flow.”

Open Starter - @darkskiesrpgstarters

"I don't understand why these people constantly get my coffee order wrong," Osman sighs softly. "It's as simple as it can be. Coffee black with salted caramel cold foam on top. Easiest thing and yet so seemingly hard for them to get right."

[cinnabun-jacob]

[ Kit Connor | He/Him ] A new face takes refuge under Dark Skies. JACOB RAMSEY, a 30-YEAR-OLD but ETERNALLY 20-YEAR-OLD HERETIC, is one of those from the FUTURE learning to navigate this changed world. People say behind their back that they’re NAIVE but the truth is that they’re really KIND HEARTED. Their style can best be described as FASHIONLY CHALLENGED, and we’ll see how that helps them fit in. (Son of Stefan Salvatore and Valerie Tulle)

Full bio link located here.

[cinnabun-jacob]